Contact
by JamKaraLee47
Summary: [KaraLee] “Three shifts back on Galactica and your heart stops when Lee hands you resignation papers.”


The next time you see Lee Adama two years have passed.

The Cylons are back. The worlds have ended. And Lee's space debris along with some commercial transport.

All pieces of your frakked up reality as real as the wrench and bolts you have in your hands. But of course, you rather push them aside and prep your Viper for the next attack.

"Hey."

He's there staring at you in the same way Zak did in the months after his death.

Only this time his flesh is substantial, real, _alive_ and you can feel the pulse in his hand.

"I thought you were dead."

"Why I thought you were in hack."

You let go awkwardly, wipe your hand on your pants, spit out a playful barb.

The connection ends abruptly.

* * *

It's a battle to stay awake these - _what is it?_ - past five days as the 33 minute skirmishes bleed into one another and maybe you shouldn't have had that watered down coffee with the stims 'cause you feel like cylons are shooting the backs of your eyes.

Then, as you nurse that bottle of water, it occurs to you that you haven't seen Lee in the last hour.

* * *

Five minutes before the next attack, a hand rests on your right shoulder.

You don't need to look up.

He's already halfway to the Ready Room.

* * *

That's the situation between the two of you, one minute he's there and then he's not. One dance he's holding you close, the next you're sleeping with Baltar.

The second time you're flying next to him, and then the FTL propels you into Colonial airspace.

Then you're both conspiring to kill Admiral Cain, and the flyboy's getting blown up.

Whatever is going on between the two you, you're starting to suspect, just might be a trend.

* * *

You're late for a nugget training session because you took off your dog tag before hitting the gym -_that little sporadic clink drives you insane each time you go in for a jab_ - and Gods help the frakker that stole them because these days replacements are rare and you might just choke-

"I only found one."

Turning around, you see Lee dangling your dog tag from it's chain looking concerned and inquisitive and everything else when he knows you're hiding something.

"Oh."

* * *

It takes two days to outline the mission, one day to run simulations, and fourteen consecutive hours to get it approved.

Only five minutes to convince Adama that Lee's too vital of an asset to return to Caprica with you.

* * *

You like the feel of skin against skin and he's yours and you rescued him, a little fact you're going to blackmail him with every time he gets out of line.

It's your second redemption - _going to make the best of it_ - and you love him.

He doesn't judge you. Imply you're a whore. Know about your drinking. About Zak. About-

The man you met over three years ago doesn't matter anymore.

* * *

It's not wholly unexpected, but it's not like you planned it.

Just a five day pass to explore the new colony with Anders in its splendor. If by splendor you mean, shacks from scraps of spaceships and a makeshift forum, without a cigar stand, enveloped in a hazy fog.

Not to mention, a grubby canvas tent serving as a temple.

You and Anders are the sixth couple married that morning.

* * *

Three shifts back on Galactica and your heart stops when Lee hands you resignation papers.

Unfortunately, your fists don't.

* * *

It's useless scanning for Galactica in the daytime skies, especially with Cylon Raiders trailing smoke overhead.

Helo's dead, so is the Admiral.

The place you once called home gone.

In the dawn of the occupation, you allow yourself an hour to grieve because there is a rebellion to plot and some things not worth dwelling on.

* * *

Normally, you wouldn't mind camping in the woods. But New Caprica's climate is nothing like the one it's named for. The mud cakes around your boots and pants and while it makes great camouflage, the dampness cuts into your bad knee and let's just say if Cottle wasn't dead already you would have killed him for withholding pills.

The food sucks, typically water with boiled bits of animal hide, and you haven't enough people for the miniscule number of weapons you have to spare.

Not to mention, Tigh and Anders led a recon patrol into the City last week and no one's returned. It's almost ironic that you might have just lost your father and Zak all over again.

"Ambush! Retreat!"

_Is that the second or third time Gaeta's yelled that?_

It's funny how you think of these things in mid battle when Centurions are gunning down your men like lawnmowers ripping through weeds and that frakking blonde bitch is kicking you in the ribs.

Maybe you've gone mad, kicked about the head too much, and that's why the blows are meeting numb flesh.

But it's not. Numb flesh, that is. You still think you're crazy.

Because the last person you expected to see plugs a bullet into the blonde and holds out his hand.

In this chaos you've surrender yourself to, everything slows to a crawl and stops for an instant waiting for your answer.

You're going to take it and hold on this time.


End file.
